YuHeng's blog

A day where nothing falls, happens, an emptiness not empty or absent, becomes fulfilling, like how the light falls on the glass which reflects, falls, and reflects again, in which I am trapped in this multitude of reciprocation, but which I do not become the object of reciprocation, endless, infinite, empty… I am finite, and every second I die in a form in which death only dies, definitive, absolute, a form that only reveals itself at the blooming of every husk of meaning.